Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya
by Twist
Summary: FINISHED The story people have clamoring for ever since my first Disc fic. Well, perhaps not clamoring. Anyway, some Good Omens is included as well as some SNL characters. Please put your trays in an upright and locked position and enjoy.
1. Chapter, The First

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya

By: Twist

A/n: I promised this a long time ago but alas, I was delayed by writers' block. However, I remembered my promise at lunch today and, lo and behold, sat down and started to type. Hehe, this was just a fun little thing, please review and give me feedback, sequels and improvements are possible. =)

~*

It was a normal day in the White House. Relatively normal, anyway. The President of the United States was currently standing in front of a mirror cursing himself for ever deciding to eat pretzels. President George W. Bush's normal day was soon to be interrupted, however, by a fanfic author with extraordinary powers. That would be me, people.

It was also a normal day in Ankh-Morpork, or as normal as days ever get there. Lord Vetinari was doing his thing in his office with all of the papers; Gods know what they really are. His day was also about to be interrupted by yours' truly in a most unusual way. So was Captain Carrot's, but that's a very different matter.

George Dubya was sitting in a meeting trying very hard indeed to look interested. The vice president whose name I cannot spell was not there, for some odd reason. He was supposed to be. But all that mattered now was what the football league was up to. And where the next ballistic pretzel would come from. (a/n: I find the pretzel thing hilarious, I'm sorry)

"And so," said one unimportant minion, finally finishing his speech. George was about ready to stand up and do the Presidential handshake, when a swirly and rather pretty blue vortex appeared underneath his seat and sucked him in. As one would imagine, this was blamed on terrorists and chaos ensued, but that's not part of the story yet, is it now?

Lord Vetinari also fell victim to a swirly vortex, though in this case, curiosity killed the cat. Or sucked it in, anyway. Captain Carrot was also sucked into the magical fanfic author vortex while chasing a criminal. While Carrot may have just been walking leisurely and talking happily to the unfortunate victim of his own crime, we shall call it a chase for the sake of the story.

"Ah," said a mysterious voice when Captain Carrot landed on his bottom on the comfortable blue cushions in the Amazing Fanifc Room. "It appears we are all present and accounted for." The speaker was, naturally, me, myself, and Guinea. But Guinea was just standing there, so she really isn't that important.

"Where am I?" asked George. It was incredibly clichéd question, but that was overlooked by Guinea the grammar nut. "And who are these other people?"

"I would ask the same of you," said Vetinari evenly, "if the question were not so overused and was more pressing."

"Who is he?" George asked, rather disturbed by his Lordship.

"Introductions are coming, please show patience. First of all, I am Twist, but I rather think Havelock there knows that. Pixie Stix, anyone?" I asked. "No? Not even Havelock? My, that really must have traumatized you, poor thing. Anywho, this person next to me is Guinea. She is one of my henchwomen, and a rather intelligent one with that. But only in the field of mathematics, or so I wished. But I digress . . ."

"You have a serious personality disorder," Vetinari muttered. "One day you're all hyper and now you're all serious and that's rather disturbing, to tell the truth."

"Silence, mortal!" Guinea exclaimed. She gave Vetinari a death glare. "Else I shall call Lord Voldemort, and the only thing you can do then is bow to him!" All three of the men stared.

"Moving on," I said, looking rather sharply at Guinea. "Your President-ness, this here is Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork and dude you really don't want to screw around with. That there is Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson, Captain in the Ankh-Morpork City watch and temporary vice-prez of the US of A."

"That's Dick Cheny!" Bush exclaimed. "What happened to Dick?"

Dick Cheny was standing in a rather old-fashioned tailor shop in a city he was pretty sure he'd never heard of before. The people spoke an odd language that he'd never heard spoken anywhere before and there were rocks walking around. The tailor was examining his suit and muttering in supposed awe to himself. No one was wearing a suit like Dick's, and the money was made of solid gold. He decided, however to let things go and let the insane little tailor go about his business of learning about the wonders of Armani.

"Mr. Cheny has been . . . indisposed," I said. "Not hurt or killed, but moved temporarily." Bush stared. "Never mind, sir-ness. Anyway, I believe you have not been introduced. Havelock, Captain, George 'Dubya' Bush, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork." I grinned in a rather evil way.

"One can't help thinking that I have missed something," Vetinari said, eyeing Bush. "Last I checked, and that would be about five minutes ago, I was the Patrician and the US of A did not exist."

"Ah, but see here, that is where your excellence is wrong. I have been put up to the challenge by myself to switch the two of you. I believe the results will be muy comical." A man appeared suddenly, looking rather flustered. "Ah, and here is my history teacher now! Mr. M, would you be so kind as to grant me a favor? I need these two men to be up to date on the history of America in a rather small space of time, say a half of an hour. Can you do it?" I peered at him over the top of my fake glasses, savoring the power.

"I believe so," he said. "Why do they need to know? And how much?"

"The reason they need to know is no business of yours, but they do need to know enough to convince the American people that they are the president and vice-president, respectively."

"Ah. American history and current events, then."

"Whatever floats your boat, sir. If your Lordship and Carrot would kindly go with Mr. M there, I would be much obliged. As for you, George, Guinea and I will fill you in on the history of the wonderful cities of Ankh and Morpork."

Half an hour later we congregated in the middle of the room, Dubya looking nervous and Carrot and Vetinari looking rather shell-shocked. Mr. M was grinning proudly. Guinea and I were trying not to laugh.

"Alright, we will now clothe you appropriately and provide you with the proper equipment. This mission will last for three days. I hope you're up to it."

"Do I have to be married?" Lord Vetinari asked, swaying slightly and looking slightly dazed. Please say no."

"Heh, I believe you will have to pretend to be married to Mrs. Laura Bush for the time period, yes." I raised my voice over the anguished screams. "A little magic will have to be used and we have employed several people to ensure that it is stable while this fanfi- er, mission is under way. Please meet Archancellor Mustrum Ridcully, Madam Esmerelda 'Granny' Weatherwax, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley, and – um – Aziraphale."

"What in the blazes?!" Bush screamed. "Awesome Dude, come help me!" That cute dog from Saturday Night Live appeared in the room.

"Nope, Georgie, I like Awesome Dude more than you. He stays with me," Guinea said.

"Who the hell are these people?!" Bush asked, slightly panicked.

"Well, Ridcully's a wizard and Granny's a witch and Crowley's a demon and 'Zira's an angel. Mustrum and Granny'll be taking care of you and Crowley and 'Zira'll be taking care of his Lordship, newly wed, and Carrot."

"I don't want to be married!" Lord Vetinari protested. He then began beating himself methodically with a cushion.

"Ready?" I asked. "To you positions, men."

"I'm married, dammit! I don't even know the woman! This is a big step for me in my personal life!"

"Shut up."

"What have I ever done to you?!"

"Get off the floor, Havelock, you'll ruin your suit."

"Fine! But I get Awesome Dude!"

"Alright." I forced Guinea to hand over the ridiculously adorable mutt to Havelock. "And from now on, Havelock, your first name is Joseph." As the anguished screams died away, I turned to Guinea and grinned. "Ten bucks on Havelock."

"Fifteen on Dubya."

"You're on."

A/n: And so begins the first chapter. I personally think it could be better, but I'm not the reviewer, now am I? So! *claps hands and grins* To you positions! Please let me know what you think. 5 good reviews = chapter 2. 5 bad reviews = my own website where I can post all of my bad fics! Well, maybe not. Adobe and I can't agree. But I will get my own website one day! Anyway, talk to me people, and I'll give you what you ask for! I only aim to please. =)

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except for myself and the fanfic room! pTerry/ Neil Gaiman own almost all of the characters, the US Senate owns George and Awesome Dude belongs to SNL or Havelock/ Joe at this point.


	2. Chapter, The Second

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya

Part of the Second

By: Twist

A/n: Hello my peoples! You were so supportive in your reviews I ran off to school one morning and in History I thought: 'My God, they love me!' and began to scribble furiously. This did cost me a stern look from my teacher and a scolding. But anyway, I got 5 reviews so here we go . . . Please be honest! If you don't like it, please review! I need to know these things . . . J 

~*

George Dubya Bush was sitting very suddenly in a severe wooden chair behind a walnut desk. There was a nervous man standing in front of him. "Sir?" the man asked.

"What, young man?"

The boy gave him an odd look. "It's Drumknott, sir. Er, Commander Vimes is in the lobby waiting for you, sir. Shall I send him in?"

"Could you tell him to come back at a more convenient time, Drumknott? I have some very important work to do." Drumknott nodded and slipped out. Once Bush was absolutely positive the boy was gone, he ripped open every desk drawer and searched frantically for any information that might yield knowledge to Vetinari's schedule.

Lord Vetinari and Carrot both landed on their feet in the Oval Office. There was a woman with short brown hair standing in the doorway. "Oh, Joey! I was so worried!" She rushed forward and gave Vetinari a hug. It was the first time Carrot had ever seen the man look panicked.

"I missed you too – um - Laura?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Nothing, just thinking . . ." He patted her awkwardly. "Maybe this isn't the time? I mean, I've got things to do . . . I hope." Laura Bush now Vetinari looked at him oddly.

"Something wrong, dear?"

"No."

"Good." Laura Vetinari smiled. "I have a convention to attend. I believe you'll be meeting with Tom Daschle in a few minutes, dear. Hello, Vice-President Carrot. How are you today?"

"Fine, ma'am."

"Good, good. Well, I must be going!" Laura Vetinari waved and left.

"I'm married to that," Vetinari said faintly, and collapsed backwards into a chair. "And I think I have children."

"Two daughters, actually, Mr. President."

Vetinari looked at him sourly. "Really? I wasn't paying attention. And don't call me that, either."

"That's what you're called, sir."

"Sir works fine, thank you." He looked up as Tom Daschle, Senate Majority Leader, stepped into the Oval Office. Two bodyguards were standing outside the door, looking serious. "Ah, Mr. Daschle."

"Sir," he nodded to Vetinari. "Mr. President," he said, nodding to Carrot*.

"What is it you wished to discuss?" Vetinari asked, shaking hands gingerly with Lord Rust's evil twin. One was enough, now there were two.

"The matter of the office of Homeland Security in your Cabinet. I am not sure the Senate or the House is very pleased with the way Tom Ridge is managing it." Daschle looked nastily at Vetinari. "We are voting to eject him, unless you have a more suitable solution. Sir."

"Can't do that," Vetinari said, just as nastily. "You approved of him in the first place and after that he's untouchable. Sorry." Vetinari didn't look it at all. Daschle looked dumbstruck.

"But, but . . . But you weren't supposed to be that smart! You're supposed to be a clueless country boy out of Texas that chokes on pretzels!"**

"Am I?" Vetinari asked.

A glazed look came over the Senate Majority leader's face and his eyes unfocused for the briefest of seconds. "No, no. I'm sorry, sir. I can't think of what has come over me."

Carrot was aware of a short, whispered argument. He could faintly see what was quite possibly was the glint of light off of a halo before the voices ended and the reflected light vanished.

"Good," Vetinari said, almost cheerfully. "I'm very glad that whole matter has been sorted out. Go oversee a debate, or something." They both watched as Daschle wandered out of the room, looking rather disturbed.

"A rather interesting way of running things, my lord. Er, sir," Carrot observed. "Two houses of a Congress and a separate branch of government for the courts and other things. I really can't understand how it works."

"Do you understand how Ankh-Morpork works, Carrot?"

"No, sir."

"There you are, then." Vetinari looked around the Oval Office. "It's the same shape, at least." He grinned in a rather evil way. "I think I can handle this."

Dubya realized that Lord Vetinari was a dangerous man and that the bastard was in charge of _his_ country. And now all Georgie had was a measly city-state that would probably be a break compared to the States.

"Sir? The commander is back. He's brought Captain Colon with him, this time."

"Captain Colon and Commander Vimes? Alright, Drumknott, send them in." Bush watched as a thin man that was thinning badly and a fat man who barely fit in his armor sidled into the room. The first man refused to look at his face and the fat one was sweating like a hog in the summer time.

"Sir." The thinner man was still staring at the wall.

"Commander Vimes, is it?" Bush asked. He was looking at the fat man, whose eyes kept darting from the wall, to the Commander, to Bush. "What was it we were going to talk about, again?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. You arranged the meeting," Vimes said woodenly.

"Oh." Bush shifted uncomfortably. "Does the river always smell like this?" he asked, after awhile. Vimes looked at him for the first time. He looked confused.

"Wouldn't you know, sir?"

"No, I – " Bush paused. "Yes, yes I would, wouldn't I? On account of my ruling this city for awhile. Yes. Yes, I can't think of what came over me."

Vimes saluted. "Me neither, sir. Is that all you wished to discuss? Or shall we move on to the weather?"

Dubya glanced at some hardly legible notes in front of him. There was a note about a complaint to Lord Bush concerning the watch. "Oh, yeah, I did get this note here from someone. They're saying you're prejudiced against them, Mr. Vimes." He glanced again at the note. "Says here that you won't hire," he stopped and re-read it. "You won't hire vampires? There're vampires in this city?"

"Yessir, I won't hire the bastards because you can't trust 'em."

"I'll fully back you up there," Bush said. "All that blood-sucking and whatnot." Captain Colon gave him an odd look. "That's all, though, Captain. Nice seeing you." Bush waved a little and read the little scribbled note again. He looked up at Vimes, who gave him a confused look, and left.

"Vampires!" Bush exclaimed, thumping the desk. A side drawer shot out of it. There were knives in that side drawer. He looked at it, shocked, and gingerly pushed it back into place. "Maybe I need to read some more," Lord George Bush said.

*The Vice-pres is the President of the Senate here in the good ol' US of A, for all of you who don't know.

**The author refuses to drop the pretzel thing. Don't even try.

Note to the reviwers: Negative feedback is welcome. I need to know what I'm doing wrong! Please review.


	3. Chapter, The Third

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya

Part of the Third

By: Twist

A/n: Hello, my peoples! And how are we today? *muttered chorus of responses* Good! Sadly, I am stuck in my house this beautiful day because of a rather high fever! But do not let that fool you! I am still perky! *growl* Damn right I am. *brightens slightly* Anyway, after being stuck at my Grandmama's house for several days I would love to eliminate your horrid suffering of waiting for the next chapter and giving it to you. Huzzah. Please read, review, and do whatever else you feel like. Just don't tell me about the nasty things.

Disclaimer: I own the Oval Office. Our tax dollars paid for it so I own it, dammit! It's mine, all mine . . . Other than that I own absolutely nothing!

Vetinari riffled through the small pile of papers on the desk. It was really depressing, to him, how little the president actually did. Controlling the army and such, but other than that he did virtually nothing. Carrot had left a small amount of time ago. Now all he had to do was look at this massive law Congress was trying to pass and read several reports on this 'war on terrorism.' Then he was absolutely purposeless. What fun.

So he decided that since he had three times this amount of work in Ankh-Morpork he was owed a break and it would probably be alright to wander around the White House for a small amount of time. Getting up from his desk, he discovered something. Underneath the bill from Congress was a thin, black, hard thingy. He extracted it carefully, and turned it over several times, wondering in a rather vague way what it was. As he turned it upside down, it unfolded.

"Interesting . . ." he muttered as he saw for the first time a laptop. "How does it turn on?" He played with some buttons on the keyboard for a small amount of time. When finding that they did nothing, he started to prod some of the buttons closer to the fold. One of them caused the top half of the thing to turn on and flash 'Dell Computer Corporation'* at him. After a small amount of time, it brought him to a screen that asked for a password. By now he had figured the concept of the keyboard out so he tried several passcodes. All failed.

"What would Bush put on this thing?" He asked himself. He resorted to words that he hadn't used ever in his life. Examples are "y'all", "Howdy", and "Texas." None really worked. Casting his mind around (because now he was actually curious about the laptop) he tried the one thing that seemed to feature largely in Bush's life. "Pretzel." There was a small series of musical notes played, and the computer spoke. "Welcome, Mr. President, to Windows XP."

"Sir?" An attendant poked her head into the room. "Mr. President, your daughter is here."

"Which one?" Vetinari asked, looking up.

***

George leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. He hadn't done a thing yet and was determined to keep up this trend. Whenever one of those bizarre clerks came into the room they would stare at him like he was some sort of freak or something. George despised the clerks.

"Sir?" The leading clerk stuck his head through the small opening he'd permitted in the door. "Sir, there is someone here to see you. He does not have a scheduled appointment, but he demands your audience. What should I do?"

"Send him in," George said cheerfully. "No use turning people away. Dissent is not treason here, right?"

"I can be, sir, if you would like it to."

"It isn't."

"Very good, sir." Drumknott left the room on that ending sentence. As he walked down to the Patrician's audience chamber he had a strange feeling that all was not right with his master. It was almost as if . . . As if talking to the man presented no mental challenge whatsoever. And he was so _likeable_ . . . Had he always been that way?

In his office, George smiled the happy, faintly stupid smile of the ignorant. He didn't know there were Assassin's after his head. Luckily, some of the memories from Vetinari had been allowed to stay, and the few Assassin's that had seen George so far had wondered vaguely how a man of that intelligence had managed to fend off countless Assassins before.

"It's a mister . . . Mister Dick Cheney, sir," Drumknott said, almost sniggering at Dick's name. In Ankh-Morpork, if you were named Dick, you were immediately a laughingstock of the whole city.

"Dick!" George exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Uh, he can come in as fast as y'all want him to . . . but watch him, on account of his weak heart." Drumknott gave Dubya a confused look. He let Cheney into the room and walked off muttering "Y'all?" to himself, all the way back to the clerk's wing.

"George?" Cheney asked, staring in disbelief at his partner. "What are you doing in this god awful toxic waste heap?"

"Some insane child and her little friend got a harebrained idea to switch me an' the ruler of this city. But it ain't too hard."

"There's a crawling mass of crime out there, George. I was robbed on my way here. It was an 'official' robbery. They guy tried to explain something called the Thieves' Guild to me . . . But that had to be a joke."

"It, uh, it wasn't, Dick. There is a Thieves' Guild. There's also an Assassin's Guild, Beggar's Guild, Seamstresses' Guild, and Alchemists' Guild." George shifted uncomfortably. "I've had the privilege of meeting several Assassins already. Scary individuals, they are."

"George," Dick said solemnly. "We need to turn this city around. Try a few things you tried with the terrorists. The old 'Axis of Evil' speech was accepted well even by people from Montana**. Everyone liked it except for those hooligans on Saturday Night Live."

"At least there's no SNL out here," George said, sagging a little bit. Then he glanced at the papers. "Isn't there a Congress to handle this stuff?"

"I wouldn't know, George. I'm not ruling the city."

"Dick, this bites."

***

Back at the White House, Awesome Dude wandered the halls. He wondered where those nice girls who rescued him from the horrors of Horatio Sanz† were. With an adorable little doggie sigh, Awesome Dude padded back to his master's office.

*Honestly, like the White House would use Gateway? Don't make me laugh.

**No offense, no offense. You were just the unlucky state.

†I don't like Horatio Sanz. Get over it.

A/n II: Ah, the beauty of being ill. I missed school again to day, but that's not necessarily a good thing, as we are taking State Assessment Tests this week. Now I have to make them all up . . . Poot. Anyway, since you have read 'tis time to say goodbye and review. I certainly feel that this chapter was not up to par but . . . Whatever. Review, tell me if you liked it, you know the drill.


	4. Chapter, The Fourth

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya  
  
Chapter, the Fourth  
  
George's Chapter  
  
By: Twist  
  
A/n: I'm very sorry about the delay. I was having terrible writers' block and then . . . finals. In fact, it's not even the real finals; I start them on Monday. And I still have no idea what to do with his Lordship. There is a place where it's all gonna end up . . . but I dunno how I'm going to get there. Lol. So, to keep myself from writing "Ankh-Morpork: A Musical" (I actually have two song written for that and am writing the third {all right, song filks, let's not get picky}) which I have been absolutely itching to write, I hauled my lazy butt over to my computer and decided to write a chapter about our beloved president. Anyway, moving swiftly onwards, here you go.  
  
***  
  
George Bush sat. In a rather boring and confused way, as well. He had been confronted with a chunk of information that he could not handle and while his mental computers were trying their best to process it, they weren't up to the task. He blinked, several times, very rapidly (c'mon, I know y'all have seen him do that on TV), and looked at Dick Cheney in a puzzled way. "What?" he asked, obviously confused by the former vice- presidents last remark.  
  
"I said George that it looks like there is no Congress. It seems you have to do everything yourself. All that paperwork," Cheney said as he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the mounds of paperwork on Vetinari's desk.  
  
George gave the papers a despairing look. "Dick, what do you want me to do? This is too much of a change. I don't even have my computer. At least I should be able to type."  
  
"Sorry, George."  
  
"Dick, could you help me with this all? It's a mess. And I'm confused." George gave the air a sniff. "What's that smell?"  
  
Enter Wuffles. The former Patrician's dog hobbled in arthritically. He gave George a puzzled look, and walked over to him. While a well-trained and neutered dog will sniff the shoe, Wuffles thrust his crusted and diseased nose into George's groin. After being shoved away, Wuffles began frantically humping George's leg.*  
  
"Dick, help me! I'm being raped!"  
  
Enter Drumknott. The poor, poor clerk witnessed a scene of horror. A horny elderly terrier, the dog's master having a panic attack and the Patrician's friend clutching his chest very suddenly and beginning to wheeze. Needless to say, he took one look at the terribly vision and left with the speed of the Gods.  
  
"Dick!" George exclaimed, jumping to his feet and beginning to attempt CPR on the former vice-president. "Damn that girl, look what she's done!" He yelled as he thumped Dick's chest. "Live, please live!"  
  
***  
  
Vetinari looked blankly at the girl in front of him. It was, according to all sources, his offspring. Though, deep inside, he was hoping to every god that had ever existed on this planet, that this was not true. He would not have fathered an airhead.  
  
"Daddy!" the spawn exclaimed, flinging out her arms and stepping forward, swerving, and collapsing into a chair as well as hysterical fits of giggles. The symptoms were immediately recognized as drunkenness.  
  
"Are . . . Are you drunk?" He asked, a bit unsure of what to say. It was very rare indeed that Havelock Vetinari found it difficult to speak to anyone, but members of the female species tended to be very different from the male gender. And how to deal with a drunken female was a whole different thing entirely. He'd had enough trouble with a hormone-crazed Sybil Ramkin late in her pregnancy, and he hadn't even started with sarcasm. Eventually he'd been forced to run away.  
  
"No! Not at all!" She said, waving her hands in horror. "I'm high! It was an accident! I really didn't mean to do too much ecstasy! It was so good though . . ."**  
  
Lord Vetinari's mind scrambled for a moment. There was no ecstasy on the Discworld, and Roundworld drugs were not a subject he was well versed in. So he opted for the generic disciplinary method that Vimes always resorted to. "It was wrong what you did," he said gravely.  
  
She burst into tears. "Don't kill me!"  
  
"Er, I wasn't going to," Vetinari said, suddenly very nervous. "Just don't do it again. Or go talk to your mother," he said, suddenly more confident," she'll know what to do! Er, yes, go speak to your mother." He glanced at 'his' daughter once more. "Preferably not in public."  
  
"Thank you, daddy," she sniffed. "You're always so nice." She crossed the room to Vetinari and, to his discomfort, gave him a hug. Then she left, waving at the oranges that only she could see.  
  
  
  
***  
  
*I've always pictured Wuffles being horny as hell. But then again, I don't like Wuffles. You can ignore his largely inappropriate behavior for the remainder of the fic. Whatever.  
  
**Has anyone else seen that episode of "That's My Bush" where George overdoses on ecstasy? That was the funniest damn episode ever.  
  
~*~  
  
Yes, yes, I know it's short. I'm very sorry. I know it's bad. I'm also very sorry. This was just an unimportant chapter to help me get writing again. The next chapter though, that'll be juicy. Tune in next time for: "Havelock (Joe) and Laura get intimate! And does Dick die? Gimme the reviews and we'll find out. Now, to go watch Aladdin . . . There's a song in there I want to use . . . 


	5. Chapter, The Fifth

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya  
  
A goofy fanfiction by Twist  
  
A/n: This is absolute and complete randomness written and about 10:30 at night. Please, please don't hurt me. Lol, like the gorgeous font? Did it work? I'm toying with and idea for yet another fanfic and I'm seeing if fonts stick, as they'll be needed.  
  
Disclaimer: Twist does not own anything in the following fic, except for what her tax dollars paid for. She does not know either Terry Pratchett or George Bush, nor is she distantly related to any of the following.  
  
~*  
  
Vetinari sighed deeply as he wandered back toward the Oval Office. He hadn't seen Carrot since the boy had been whisked away by his 'press manager' and disappeared in a car. After enjoying the many pleasures of the internet, and coping with his daughter who was sky-high, he'd driven a small golf cart. Very few people know how to drive a golf cart like an ATV, and Vetinari certainly didn't, seeing as he'd no previous experience with cars. As soon as it had flipped over he'd run away as quickly as possible.  
  
And so he had drawn the conclusion that the President of the United States did absolutely nothing but talk to reporters. He'd done this several times already. There had been questions and questions about how he was dealing with the crisis in the Middle East and how much progress the army had made into apprehending Osama bin Laden.  
  
He hadn't known the answer to any of the questions, seeing as he'd had very little preparation indeed for this job. Right now, he realized, all he desired in the multiverse was to be back in his stiff and uncomfortable chair, behind his desk with knives in, and to know really what on the Disc was going on.  
  
"What's wrong, Joey?" The frighteningly seductive voice startled the poor President/Patrician out of his reverie. "You look troubled, let me soothe you." Laura Bush, still wearing the tight suit she'd worn to whatever convention she'd run off to, walked across the room in a very, very sexy way.  
  
Vetinari responded as all men do in a situation like this. He looked for possible escape routes.* Then he re-directed his attention to his 'wife.' "I'm really very tired, please," he whimpered, but stopped when she slid around and seated herself on the arm of the President's chair. She then proceeded to give him a massage in the area of the shoulders.  
  
Vetinari very seldom had any sexual relations of any kind. As Patrician, he worked to keep himself in a light of being cold, distant, and an unfeeling bastard. He remembered very well the last time he's had good sex (five years ago) and that had been with a vampire.** But, as far as judging foreplay went, this seemed to be turning out nicely.  
  
"Relax, Joey, when was the last time I hurt you?" She slid around to the front of him. "You seem different." She looked at him, and Vetinari felt the very strange sensation of actually being turned on. She looked him all over, and then kissed him. This was very gladly returned. †  
  
***  
  
George hopelessly thumped his partner's chest. Dick had gone all purple by this point, and was not breathing. In fact, he hadn't breathed since he'd had his heart attack. Wuffles, thankfully, had left. Slowly, the thing that had kept him trying to revive a dead man for the last ten minutes gave up. He rocked back onto his heels, lost his balance, and thumped onto the floor. This would cause some painful bruising of the butt later on.  
  
"Where's that Drumknott boy?" George asked himself aloud. "I may as well get his corpse out of here." Another thought occurred to him. "What am I goin' to do about a funeral? I can't very well bury him here. Mrs. Cheney would wonder."  
  
Drumknott had, in fact, been waiting patiently outside the door to the Oblong Office. He'd stayed there until it sounded like the chaos had died down, and the re-entered the chamber.  
  
"My lord?" Drumknott asked cautiously. "Is everything alright, sir?"  
  
"Dick's dead."  
  
Drumknott had been bred, born and raised in Ankh-Morpork, so this did cause him to snort a little. He soon realized the graveness of the situation, and ceased. "What would you like me to do with the body, my lord?" He asked, with rigid attention.  
  
"Cremate it."  
  
Drumknott nodded, and left the room. He knew when to laugh in private.  
  
***  
  
Vice-President Carrot Ironfoundersson was having a good time indeed. His 'press manager' had taken him to some place called Texas, and he was having a fun time indeed. Currently, he was watching a play.  
  
"And this is called . . . ?" He asked, leaning over to his manager.  
  
"A Midsummer Night's Dream, sir."  
  
"Ah. And why am I here again?"  
  
"You needed time off, sir. And you planned this weeks ahead, remember?" The man leaned back, seemingly to enjoy himself, but merely to look at a friend. He winked. Around Carrot, bodyguards stood at fierce attention.  
  
Vice-President Carrot sat and watched the play with enjoyment. He wondered vaguely what the Patr – President was doing. The last thought that would have occurred to him would have been 'having sex,' had the gun shot not rung out. Afterwards, immediate panic occurred. It was obvious who was being shot at.  
  
Carrot, however, had the standard Carrot reaction. "Please, why are you doing this?" he shouted over the commotion. A wild-eyed madman with a gonne stood up.  
  
"Death to politicians!" he shouted, and shot again. This time he hit Carrot, if only grazing his right wrist. People hiding behind chairs watched in amazement as the Vice-President's bodyguards failed to act and the gaped when Carrot walked over to the aspiring assassin and picked him up to set him on his feet, looking him squarely in the eye all the while.  
  
"I think it's time you and I had a chat. Calm down a bit and then please tell me while all politicians should die." Carrot smiled amiably. The man sagged visibly sagged.  
  
"You're corrupting our freedoms, especially with that Campaign Finance Reform Act of 2002 your boss just passed." The man shuffled his feet a bit, dropped his gun and stuck out his hand. "I'm very sorry, sir. Perhaps war isn't the best way."  
  
"Certainly not," Carrot said, still smiling. "As repayment for your not killing me and seeing the Error in your Ways, I will have the President take another look at this Act, and will do my best to write it out of the books." The man smiled a bit. "I'm sure it will make many Americans as well as yourself a little happier."  
  
"Thank you, sir," the man said while nodding. "After all, it is just the Sedition Act in a clever disguise –"  
  
It was around that time that the SWAT team and several members of the local police department burst into the theater, along with some paramedics. Much to all of their surprises, the Vice-President and the small man that had attempted to kill him were chatting amiably in a wide circle of slowly relaxing people.  
  
"He's right, though," one man on the edge of the circle was saying. "That Campaign Act is almost tyranny."  
  
"Alright there, sir? I anyone hurt?" one of the police officers asked, trying to sound official in an obviously relaxed situation. "We, um, heard there was an assassination goin' on."  
  
"Oh, we're all fine now," Carrot said, grinning.  
  
"No! No, we're not all right!" Carrot's press manager jumped up out of the crowd and yelled. "This isn't how it's supposed to work; he's supposed to be dead!" The man was able to point and angry finger in Carrot's direction before a member of the SWAT team shot him with a stun gun. The police chief looked at the man who had shot the insane press manager. "Glad that's dealt with; let's get these loonies down to the station."  
  
***  
  
Lord Bush toiled away at the paperwork almost mechanically. Dick was dead. He was all along on this backwards planet and so far away from his family, friends, and considerably easier job. He looked out the window and saw the strangest sight he'd ever seen. On the right half of the window, it was night; on the left it was sunset.  
  
"This is one bizarre planet," George mused as he gazed out over the vague shapes of the rooftops of Ankh-Morpork. The paperwork was endless, but mindless. No wonder that Vetinari man hadn't had a very distinct or interesting personality, the job didn't allow it.  
  
Drumknott slid into the room without as much as a sound. "Are there any papers I can take away, my Lord?" he asked, rigid as ever.  
  
"That pile," George mumbled, while gesturing vaguely toward a small pile on his left. "Is there any more?" he asked, looking up wearily.  
  
"Not a significant amount, sir," Drumknott said respectfully, leaving.  
  
"How long do I usually take on this sort of thing?" George asked hurriedly, as Drumknott was almost out of the door. "Just a track record, sort of thing."  
  
"You usually work from about four in the morning to anywhere between twelve midnight to three a.m., sir."  
  
George watched Drumknott leave with a look that was a mixture of horror and amazement on his face. "That poor, poor man," he whispered, "he may actually deserve what he's getting."  
  
Meanwhile, Drumknott and the cook were discussing the Patrician's recent change of heart.  
  
"I'm sure that little friend of his dying didn't help it all. Perhaps the stress is just finally getting to him."  
  
"He looked scared almost when I told him his track record for working hours." Drumknott snorted and sipped at some alcoholic beverage or other. "As if he wouldn't know."  
  
"He is getting older," the cook said slowly, and started slicing a tomato. "Maybe senility has finally reared its ugly head. You wouldn't remember what Snapcase was like right before he was Assassinated, but he needed reminding of what to do every ten or so minutes." The cook chuckled. "Mind you, he was about half-insane anyway."  
  
"Totally insane from what I've heard," Drumknott observed, and then shrugged. "Anyway, I ought to be getting back to his agingness."  
  
"Sir!" An unimportant underling burst into the room. Drumknott raised an eyebrow. "Are you the Patrician's head clerk, sir?"  
  
"I am his personal secretary, yes," Drumknott said. "What is it?"  
  
"Well," the underling rubbed his hands together nervously, "that friend of the Patrician's, you know? Only we took him to the morgue and around the University his chest started beeping and he's alive now, sir." He grinned nervously. "That is alright, isn't it?"  
  
Drumknott looked at the clerk in mild disbelief. "Show him in, please." Much to the clerk's surprise, Dick walked into the room, looking confused. "You're alive? Er, yes . . . of course you are. Why wouldn't you be? How?"  
  
Dick shrugged. "I guess that freaky glowing building of yours gave my Pacemaker a jump start. Now where's Dubya's office, again?"  
  
***  
  
Vetinari rolled over onto his back, panting. Laura grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back over towards her. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you and what have you done to my husband?" Vetinari heard someone somewhere mumble 'oh, shit.'  
  
"Um, what do you mean?" He asked, trying desperately to cover for whatever she was accusing him of.  
  
"You're not my husband," she said simply. "You are much better in bed." She started to lick his neck again. Vetinari shivered.  
  
"How did you –" he stopped when she slid a hand around his back. He bit his lip and tried to control his breathing. "How did you remember George?"  
  
"I didn't know the magic would cut out when they started having sex!" Someone was screaming somewhere. There was a hint of light flashing and wings rustling.  
  
"I don't know," she murmured into his ear. "I just did. And I think I know what happened, too." She looked at him with those eyes again. Vetinari trembled. This time he kissed her, and it was warm and moist. They both trembled. "Not this late," she said, glancing at the clock. "I would love to but you have to meet the Prime Minister of England tomorrow, whoever you are, and you should be fresh." Vetinari grinned in a very evil manner indeed. "No, not that way," she snapped jokingly. "So it's time to go to sleep now, whoever you happen to be.  
  
Their thoughts were very different indeed as they went to sleep. Vetinari's ran somewhere along the lines of 'Oh, Gods, she knows.' While Laura's were something like I have to pretend to be married to a sex God. How hard can that be?'  
  
  
  
***  
  
*This is true. No matter how sexy a woman the female happens to be, a male will always have his escape well planned.  
  
**Bwa. You figure it out for yourself.  
  
†I like Laura Bush. Unlike most people. She seems almost . . . normal. Can you tell?  
  
A/n: Does anyone have an adequate feel of Tony Blair and/or Queen Elizabeth? Seeing as our sucky cable channel refuses to provide the BBC, I am deprived. I plan to work them (at least Tony Blair) into the next chapter. E-mail me at PlotTwist13@aol.com. But otherwise, there you have it. I'm sorry for the disappointment, but I just cannot write sex, and therefore there was no graphic sex. And it was fluffy. *sigh* I cannot write romance, which is why I love to read it. (Not the crappy kind though.) I'm particularly fond of V/V slash but that will not be happening, sorry. And now I'm rambling. So I'll leave, please give me reviews. I feed upon them. But unconstructive criticism and nameless reviews give me tummy aches and make me very, very angry indeed. So watch how you review.  
  
P.S. The musical's not happening, but how would a Discworld house share make you all feel? I'm itching to write one . . . Hehehe. 


	6. Chapter, The Sixth

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya

Chapter, The Sixth

By: Twist

A/n: Hola. I'm very, very sorry for the delay but Tony Blair had me so tied up that I dropped it and had a frustration issue. So finally, I have stopped playing Patrician 2 for more than an hour and become determined to post this. Note: If Tony Blair acts nothing like he does in real life, please don't become angry with me. I'm working with what meager information I have. 

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. Except what my tax dollars paid for. Wha! I own that, bweehee.

***

Lord George Dubya Bush, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, gaped at Drumknott. "Where do I have to be again?" he asked, hardly believing what he had just heard.

"You must be in attendance in the Rats' Chamber in several minutes due to a meeting of the City Council. It's an official meeting, sir." Drumknott gave him a suspicious look, "I thought I'd remind you because you're usually down there by now, sir." Dubya nodded.

"Of course I am, I just got a little caught up in my, um, work. Thanks for reminding me." He stood up, trying and failing to conceal the fact that he was embarrassed about wearing trousers that no one could see. In fact, when he'd looked in a mirror, he appeared in all respects to be wearing a dress. As George began to walk down to the Rats' Chamber, Drumknott cleared his throat.

"Sir, you're not the actual Patrician, are you?" In the UU, Arch-Chancellor Ridcully leaned back and sucked a turkey leg. Far off in Lancre, a fox's ears pricked and it was seen tearing back to a tumbledown cottage.

George paled as he always does when faced with a difficult question. "Um, what makes you think that, Drumstring?"

"Drumknott, sir. I think that because first of all, you do not look like Lord Vetinari. And you are also more easily confused than his Lordship. And I've never known the Patrician to forget a meeting."

George sighed. "Listen, I didn't want to. There's some insane teenager somewhere and she put us into this." He watched the twisted grin form on Drumknott's face. Unlike Lord Vetinari, whose 'wife' had figured the same thing out, Drumknott was raised in Ankh-Morpork and therefore was not in the habit of keeping secrets and being nice to people who technically are not in charge of him.

"Oh, alright then," he said personably. "I'll just go and organize things, shall I?" Drumknott gave George the evilest look he the President had ever seen. Then he walked away, not the clerky sort of walk George had become accustomed to but a kind of stalk, not unlike the walk he'd seen Vetinari use. He gulped.

"Oh dear, I stepped in it now."

***

Joseph (Havelock) Vetinari, President of the Unites States of America, woke up when something buzzed. He'd been asleep, which was startling enough, but, he realized, what was even stranger was that he was not even in the Palace. And there was a woman next to him.

Of course, like the cliché calls for, it all came back to him. But, unlike the cliché, he did not groan and curse himself. Rather, he amused himself with the alarm clock for a little while. Technology and Vetinari were not two things meant for each other and the President was proving to be even more technologically challenged than the author's father, who needs help dialing the new phone they bought.

"Joe, or whatever, turn the damn alarm clock off." Laura Bush kicked the man that was supposed to be her husband. "It's annoying."

Vetinari pushed a few buttons, and turned the alarm clock over. Finding nothing to work, he threw the alarm clock against the wall. It gave one last feeble beep, and then burst. "It's off," he said, watching the steaming remains with fascination. The thought had just occurred to him that while he was no longer the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, he didn't have to act like the Patrician. He just had to be civilized, which was easy enough.

"I didn't really mean that way."

"But it worked." There was silence. Vetinari sat up and slouched back against the headboard. "What do I do now?"

"If you're trying to be like George, you go back to sleep for another hour, wake up and panic when you remember lunch with Tony Blair. If you're going to be whoever you are, deal with it as you please."

And so Joseph (Havelock) Vetinari went to discover the wonders of the shower, and foamy soap*. 

Twenty minutes later, he was back in his office, looking at a desk that was distressingly empty. So he sat and wondered what to do, while absentmindedly scratching Awesome Dude behind the ears. He didn't have that lunch thing until one, so he didn't need to eat anything, and there was no paperwork.

He started opening drawers in the desk. Most were full of things that looked like they could beep, and really the only thing he'd learned while being President so far was that beeping things were not his friend. Awesome Dude's tail started to thump against a chair leg.

People all have quirks. This is true of everyone, no matter how sane they appear to be. Samuel Vimes's quirk was to settle into the Policemans' Walk and toss his sword absentmindedly into the air. Vetinari's was that when he was deep in thought and had nothing to do, he would sit in his chair cross-legged and rest his chin in his hands. Awesome Dude curled up under the desk. Just then, Laura Bush walked in, miraculously awake and well-dressed.

"I have another convention to go to, so I will be leaving now. It's in Pennsylvania, if you must know."

"Uh huh." Mr. Vetinari stared at nothing very intently.

"I'll be gone all day."

"Okay."

"Goodbye."

"Adios." Laura started to walk towards the door, and stopped. She turned and looked at him intently.

"Where did you learn to speak Spanish?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh." She seemed to think about this for a while. "Okay. Adios, I guess."

"Hasta luego." He seemed to jerk out of it. "Un momento." Laura raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, um, what do I do at these dinner things?"

"You talk about political stuff, and eat your French fries with a fork." Vetinari gave her a puzzled look. She sighed. "Just use your manners." He nodded, and Laura walked out. Several hours, one stupid bill (meaning he'd vetoed it) , and a press conference later, Vetinari found himself shaking hands with a man who had big ears and smiled all the time and agreed to everything he said. Carrot was there too, which was a great help.

"Hello, Mr. Blair, how are you?" Carrot asked, radiating politeness. "And how is the country?"

"Very well, thank you." Tony Blair replied. He was a bit uneasy for some reason around the President this time; he seemed to be studying him. "And, er, England's all right, too."

"Very good," Carrot beamed. "Please sit down."

The three men sat, in an atmosphere that was very tense. Vetinari's presence alone created tenseness, and even Carrot was having a hard time combating it. "So," Blair said, toying with his fork nervously, "this whole thing is about trade between England and America. As I'm sure you know the American economy's slow right now, so I was wonder if I could do anything to help? I feel this meeting is too important to take place between two ambassadors."

"Why is the economy down?" Vetinari seemed to ask himself. "People are buying more things than ever; it's the stock market that's the problem . . ." Blair and Carrot exchanged looks. Vetinari seemed to be in a world of his own.

"Sir?" Carrot asked nervously, clearing his throat. "Sir, perhaps you have an idea, sir?"

"No," Vetinari said slowly, looking up. From what he'd managed to gather off of CNN that morning, this problem was something he could not fix in a day but it was definitely best if it was contained nationally. "No, I don't think we need help as of now. Anything else?" He fixed Blair with a glassy smile and an icy glare.

"There is the matter of the crisis in the Middle East . . ."

"The world watches," Vetinari said softly. "And no one likes what they're seeing right now. But it's going to be worse if we, and by we I mean America and England, step in. It's all right to have two cultures fighting over s strip of land; that everyone understands, but when nations step in people get nervous. And as we are seeing after the terrible atrocities that have occurred in our nation's recent past, when people get nervous they stop consuming. They stop traveling, and, consequently, the economy falls. No, what we need right now is to stay out of it. For in the past, our interest in their war has only fueled it."

"India and Palestine?" Blair was dumbstruck. The President of the United States was using big words, made no sense but in the opposite way, like he was far above everyone intellectually. And he looked absolutely confident in what he was saying. This wasn't publicity to him. Publicity is like a big, soft blanket that wraps around what the President was presenting Blair with, which was the cold, hard steel bar of true politics.

"Get all other nationalities out of there and let them figure it out. They share a border, and therefore nuclear war would be a terribly stupid move. Someone is bound to see that eventually." Vetinari had steepled his fingers and was looking at Blair intently over them.

"What about Osama bin Laden?" Blair was not at all hungry, he realized as the food was brought out. He was terrified by the knowledge that the thin man sitting across the table from him knew exactly how man as a whole thought, and was using that as a political tool.

"If my sources are correct, he has been having kidney problems. No doubt the man is dead. As is the Taliban. And Al Qaeuda. Certainly though, we need to keep an eye on them to make sure they don't crawl back."

Blair silenced himself and began to eat. Vice-President Carrot was eating happily, as if he was not bothered at all by the cool, sharp mind that his superior possessed. The President himself ate very little, and grinned a thin, acidic smile every once and a while.

Vetinari had good reason to grin. He was only the President for three days, and this was day two. He could at least put a hold on the stupidity factor until he was forced to return to Ankh-Morpork. But right now, he almost wished he could stay for a while. A whole nation would make a new and interesting project.

And so the meal finished, with Blair and Vetinari exchanging formal goodbyes and the Prime Minister driving away safely. Vetinari gazed out the window as habit decreed.

"I think you scared him, sir," Carrot said, standing at Vetinari's shoulder. "He looked rather nervous the whole time."

"I can't say I noticed," Vetinari replied faintly. Carrot cleared his throat again.

"Last night, sir, I was in Texas and I was watching a theater production," he saw Vetinari's lip curl just the slightest bit, "like, a play sort of thing, and someone tried to assassinate me."

"Did he? And what did you so about it?"

"I, er, I talked to him, sir. He said there's a certain Act that was passed that's tyranny. Asked me to get you to look at it, sir."

"Which Act?"

"The Campaign Reformation Act of 2002, sir," Carrot said. "He wants you to throw it out of the books."

"I've already had a look at it. It'll be gone by tomorrow morning†."

"Oh, how did you manage that, sir? I thought the author said you'd only done three things this morning." Carrot watched Vetinari uneasily. He had an unpleasant gleam in his eyes.

"The author doesn't know all, Carrot."

"Sir, are you all right?" Carrot was genuinely concerned about Vetinari's sanity at this point.

"It's a mess, Carrot," Vetinari said softly, looking out of the window. "A little over two hundred years old and the most poorly run country in the world. Law enforcement is terrible and for all the technology, it's not being used for much. You don't know what everyone is doing."

"That would be invasion of privacy, sir. Sir, have you read the Constitution? It might put a stop to a few of the things I think you're planning."

"No, but I will get around to it." It was then that Carrot decided to stay at the White House all day, in case Vetinari got any ideas. After getting used to being a dictator, he seemed to be having trouble adjusting his mind to letting people do pretty much what they want and not being much more than a figurehead and a signature.

Carrot made sure that Vetinari read the Constitution as soon as they returned to the Oval Office. That seemed to diminish the insane little flame that had been lit in Vetinari's mind and he had started acting normal again. A little more relaxed than he usually was, as well. He even managed to attend a press conference and seem to be entirely confused at everything the reporters asked him.

At the end of the day, when Carrot was ready to leave, Vetinari suddenly slumped forward onto the desk and looked more depressed than Carrot had ever seen anyone look. "I'm not meant to rule a nation like this," Vetinari said. "You have to be more laid back and, well, stupid." Carrot nodded.

"It's probably made you a better person, though," he said, displaying fully his overwhelming Carrot-ness. Vetinari stared.

"I cannot believe you just said that," he said. "I really think I need to lighten up."

"That's basically what I was hinting at, sir," Carrot said. His dwarven literal-mindedness was showing through at this point.

"Goodnight, Carrot," Vetinari said. Carrot nodded, grinned cheerfully, and left. Vetinari then permitted himself to fall asleep on the desk.

Far away, in Pennsylvania, in a little county with a lot of Amish people in it, two beings were in a hotel room, getting thoroughly drunk and watching everything that was happening in the Oval Office on a television. Their names were Aziraphale and Crowley.

"I'll bet their gay," Crowley said.

"How can Vetinari be gay, he had sex with a woman last night! He broke one of the Ten Commandments!" Aziraphale cried in distress.

"Well, he's bisexual, then," Crowley conceded.

"Besides, being attracted to other men when you're a man is sinful," Aziraphale pouted.

"Well we're not technically men, are we?"

"What are you hinting at, Crowley?"

"Angel, shut up and kiss me." And so that scene will end in the author's vague attempts to keep the story at a PG-13 rating. So, out of the Motel 6 and into Ankh-Morpork. The Rats' Chamber, to be more precise.

***

George Dubya attempted to call order in the meeting, but rumors spread fast in Ankh-Morpork and the topic of the meeting had rapidly changed from 'Those Klatchian bastards again' to 'Hey, this man isn't the Patrician, so let's annoy the hells out of him.'

"George," said Lord Downey, leaning forward with a grin fixed on his face. "We've all heard this silly little rumor going around that you're not really the Patrician. And now that I'm hearing this, I'm beginning to remember things and wonder: Is that true?"

George Bush, unable to lie, was stuck. "Um, yes. Yes, it is."

"So what happened to Lord Vetinari?" Mr. Boggis asked. However, he was unable to finish because Granny Weatherwax stormed into the room and stomped her foot.

"All of this nonsense will be stopped right now! Because the wizard of yours is incompetent, I've brought Gytha Ogg instead!" Those who knew Gytha Ogg because of extensive travels cowered. Granny grinned. Lord Downey however, had not and did not see any reason to be scared of the two witches. He did not even see one of the two witches.

"And where is this Gytha, madame?" he asked.

Granny rolled her eyes. "Gytha!" she barked. "What are you doing now?"

"They've those banana things here, as well, Esme!" Gytha Ogg made her way into the room. "Are these the gentlemen I'm to lecture, then?" she asked, gulping some of the banana daiquiri.

"Yes, Gytha." Just then, Mustrum Ridcully wandered into the room.

"Hello, all," he said. "Now, what seems to be the – oh, hello Madame Weatherwax."

"Hello, Mustrum. You seemed to have shirked your duties." Granny and Arch-Chancellor Ridcully glared at each other. The others in the room felt the temperature drop several degrees.

"Right, well you all be nice to this boy," Nanny said, staying cheerful and trying to divert attention from the oncoming argument. "Havelock'll be back within a few hours, right enough. And Granny and I'll be here until then." The others in the room exchanged terrified glances and left the room, George Bush included. "Come along, Gytha. I'm sure Mustrum here has quite a lot to do." Nanny Ogg pulled at Granny's arm and eventually managed to get her out of the same room as Ridcully. Back in his office, George sagged back into his chair.

"What seems to be the trouble, George?" Dick asked, ruffling through the growing piles of paper on the Patrician's desk. He himself had had some servants set up a small card table and had been making a crack at the paperwork.

"This job is so not easy," George said, riffling half-heartedly through a document. "And I have to wear a dress."

"She said it would be three days, didn't she? Time's up tomorrow morning." Cheney was ruling the city and letting George moan, just as he had always done.

"But it's only one thirty in the afternoon and who knows what kind of wacky schedule this planet runs by. It's carried on the backs of elephants, for god's sake!"

"Try to get some work done, George," Cheney replied, ignoring Bush's outburst. As Bush tried to read a report on activities in Klatch that aroused suspicion, people outside were very suddenly ignoring the laws. This was giving Commander Vimes a lot of trouble.

"What's the trouble here?" Vimes asked, wandering into the middle of a rowdy crowd and lighting a cigar. People calmed down a little, as they always tend to do when faced with the seemingly relaxed version of Commander Vimes.

"The man in the Oblong Office isn't really our Patrician!" one man yelled.

"Really now?" Vimes asked almost lazily, blowing a smoke ring. "So why the riot?"

"Because we've been suffering under an imposter!"

"No, no," Vimes said, staring at the most outspoken man. "While I'll admit that the man in the Oblong Office right now is an imposter, I'm afraid to tell you that he isn't Vetinari, either." The faces around Vimes paled as they realized what he'd just said.

"Vetinari's going to go round the bend when he hears about this," someone said. "And we've never seen him angry. Who knows what he'll do."

"Probably be more of a bastard than he usually is," Vimes said, completely honestly. "Now listen, the man up there isn't our Patrician and we all know that. But down here I'm still the law, regardless. Who presents more of a threat?"

The crowd diffused rapidly as people compared the number of times they'd talked to the Patrician and the number of times the Watch had shouted at them. It was easy to see which the greater threat was.

"Well, glad to see that's sorted out," Vimes said more or less to himself. "I only wish Carrot were here to deal with what's going to happen after Vetinari gets back."

And so the afternoon went. The sun made its lazy arc over the Discworld, and darkness flowed over Ankh-Morpork. Or tried to, anyway. The scent of the Ankh could repulse even darkness at some times of the year. In a pub, Nanny Ogg enjoyed herself while Granny tried to look inconspicuous. In his workshop, Leonard of Quirm wondered vaguely where Vetinari had gotten to because he was running out of certain materials. However, he didn't really think that whole bit out because he was interrupted by an idea for Rotating-Device-That-Can-Peel-Potatoes (know to us Earth folk as the Rotato). And, in the wee hours of the morning, George Bush and Dick Cheney were forced to retire, both of them seriously wishing to have their own jobs back.

***

*A/n: OOC? Yes, but foamy soap is always a fixture in stories where taking a shower is included.

†And there were various cheers heard around the nation.

A/n: And so ends the hardest and longest chapter. Certainly the heaviest. I'm thinking one more chapter plus an author's note, but three more things added because one is just for fun and actually relevant. 


	7. Chapter, The Seventh

Lord Vetinari, Meet George Dubya

Chapter, The Seventh

The Final Writings

By: Twist

A/n: Last chapter for you! Read on!

Disclaimer: Do I really have to do this? Alright. Terry Pratchett and his lawyers take heed! I own nothing! Take it all! I don't even own my president! Take it! I am but a tiny American, please don't sue me!

***

The sun rose over the Washington D.C. horizon. Distantly, there can be heard the strains of the beginning of the song 'The Circle of Life' from the Lion King. In the White House, everyone was asleep. So that's not very interesting. We'll fast-forward to several hours later.

It was nine thirty in the White House, and the West Wing was full of action and mini soap operas. However, down in the basement is where our two favorite characters can be found.

"Sir? What are you doing?" Carrot approached Vetinari, or someone that looked like him, from behind. There was no response. "Sir?" The pictures on the screen ceased to move and the screen flashed the word 'paused.' Vetinari turned around.

"Yes?" he asked. Vetinari had seemed to be hard at work as of late making himself look as completely ridiculous as possible. He was wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt and jeans, along with the ever popular Nike sneakers. And sunglasses. And he had shaved his beard off and bleached his hair at the tips . . . And we'll stop there. No, none of that is true. Well, it is true about the orange shirt and blue jeans and Nikes but that's it. Sorry.

"Sir, why are you wearing that? Don't you have to address the Union in about an hour?"

"No, I called Twist. We leave in like, fifteen minutes. Now shut up, I need five hundred more dollars to get Apu."

"Sir, what is wrong with you?"

"I have discovered Nintendo Game Cube and, subsequently, the Simpsons. Now shut up."

"What game are you playing?"

"The Simpsons Road Rage."

"Alright then. So I don't have to wear a suit? Do you think I should change back into my Watch uniform?" Carrot looked unsure, while Vetinari just looked like he was concentrating on destroying as many things as possible. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth.

"She took it from you, didn't she? I couldn't find my clothes anywhere, and I checked everywhere, including Lincoln's bedroom." Vetinari sighed as the screen started to flash game over. "Remind me not to play with Willie again, alright?"

"Yes, sir. What do you mean you checked in Lincoln's bedroom? I thought that was a restricted area." Carrot watched as Vetinari selected Grandpa instead.

"Oh, yeah, after the séance last night. I felt the urge to get in touch with the spirits from beyond." Vetinari turned around while Mr. Burns appeared on the screen. Carrot stared as the little Mr. Burns video played.

"He reminds me of you in a very frightening way," Carrot said. Then he seemed to realize what Vetinari had just said. "What do you mean you did a séance in Lincoln's bedroom? That's rather rude, isn't it?"

"Oh, I scraped the candle wax off of the floor when I was done. I just wanted to see what he thought about the current status of the nation." Vetinari crashed into a light pole.

"And he said?" Carrot asked. "I'm sure it was very interesting."

"The man's boring as hell," Vetinari replied. "I asked him about Osama and he went off on something about four scores in a football game seven years ago."

"I don't think that's what he meant, sir."

"Oh well, that's his problem." No sooner had he said that had the two of them disappeared into thin air. Distantly, a voice screamed 'Could you have picked a less convenient time?! I almost had Apu!"

***

Far away, in distant Ankh-Morpork, George and Dick were sitting in the Oblong Office, making their way through giant piles of paperwork. George was making a little more headway than Dick because he scanned each document unless it was extremely interesting whereas Dick read everything very thoroughly.

"You're taking forever, Dick," George observed as he finished off one pile and started another.

"I'm trying to keep my mind off what happened when I died," Dick replied gruffly. George slid the chair several inches away from Dick.

"You didn't really die," George replied, trying to concentrate on a document but fearing for his partner's sanity. "You're alive now."

"It was that stupid Unseen University." George looked out of the window, to make sure UU was still there. "The high levels of magic around it jumpstarted my Pacemaker. The bloody freak buggered off."

"What freak?"

"Tall, skeletal, wore black . . ."

"Vetinari's on Earth, Dick."

"Not him!" Dick set down his document and grabbed one off George's pile. "He was different. He talked odd."

"What, like someone from Boston or something? They all talk funny. I've never heard anyone else say 'cah.'"

"No, he had an odd voice."

"Like Gilbert Gottfried?"

"Never mind, George."

The two sat in silence, picking their way through papers. Drumknott would shuffle in every once and a while, sneering at George and depositing papers messily in various areas around the room. George became increasingly annoyed with this, but kept his mouth shut. However, when the poor, stupid clerk deposited a rather large pile of paper into the waste basket, directly, George snapped.

"Sic'm, Wuffles."

Just as Drumknott was headed out of the room, he was attacked by a small ball of fragrant (in a bad way) white fluff. Several minutes later, had you been standing in the clerk's wing, you would have seen Drumknott dragging himself along the floor, being vigorously humped by Wuffles.

While George was still chuckling over his victory, the two of them vanished in a sparkling orange cloud.

***

Twist was sunbathing in the Amazing Purple Fanfic room when our favorite characters returned. Don't ask how, because she really didn't want to explain the giant hole in the ceiling. She was wearing a bikini top identical to the pattern on Havelock's shirt, and denim shorts. However, the first thing people tended to notice was the enormous water gun that was sitting by her beach chair.

"So did we enjoy ourselves?" She asked, sitting up and munching on her magic bean burrito.

"No!" Dick and George chorused.

"How about yourself, Carrot, my homie?"

"Except for the assassination attempt, everything was very nice, and even the assassin turned out to be quite a nice chap," Carrot said, smiling and blushing with a little bit of embarrassment at Twist's choice of dress.

"And you, Havvie-kins?"

"Remind me to kill you next time you show up in my office," he glowered. Twist squirted him with the water gun.

"Charming. So now, you all must fill out a short evaluation form and you can go home, okay? That means you too, Mr. Drippy." Vetinari looked ready to kill someone.

Twist handed them each a short printed sheet of paper, and watched as they filled the questions out, occasionally squirting one of them, which no-one (excluding Havelock) really minded, considering it was 95 degrees in the shade.

"Are we all finished?" Twist asked, forever perky. "Good! Now we must distribute gifts. First to George, I present you with a copy of 'The Streets of Ankh-Morpork;' to help you remember where you were.

"Then to Dick I give 'Death's Domain.' No particular reason." Dick paled as she handed the book to him.

"To Carrot, I give chocolate to give to Angua, which I know you'll do because you're nice.

"And finally to Havelock I give," she dumped a bucket of water over his head, "two gallons of water, a change of clothes, a lifetime supply of batteries, a CD player and the New Found Glory CD, with added songs such as 'Sweet Home Alabama' and 'Respect.' This gives me an excuse to come to your office often." Vetinari glared. "And you have to stay afterwards." She grinned evilly. Vetinari shuddered.

"And now I bid all of youse peoples adieu, for our little adventure has come to an end. Adios, mis amigos!" And they all vanished in orange sparkles. "And now, Havelock . . ."

***

Carrot landed on his feet, in uniform outside of Pseudopolis Yard. No one seemed to find this odd. This is, after all, Discworld. He entered the Watch House, and was immediately noticed by Commander Vimes.

"Carrot! Where have you been?" Vimes looked glad to see him, insofar as much as the Commander could. 

"Personal, Commander." He looked straight ahead, radiating honesty.

Vimes looked him up and down. "Ah. Well, carry on, captain." He trudged upstairs, mumbling about paperwork. Carrot tried not to look relived as he walked out onto the Ankh-Morporkian streets. That would be out of character.

***

George Dubya landed in his chair, in the Oval Office. He was wearing a normal suit and everything looked in tact. He summed the whole story up in one sentence.

"That was bizarre."

***

Dick Cheney landed in the swampland know as Louisiana. He sighed and trudged through the sludge to the nearest settlement, thinking about how terrible it would be to explain this to anyone. He did not notice the cavemen pointing and grunting, nor did he notice the large brachiosaurus munching happily on a tree.

"She always gets something wrong."

***

About a half hour after everyone else was returned to their respective locations (or time periods, in Cheney's case) Lord Vetinari was returned to his chair of office, grinning happily. He heard Drumknott approaching the doors to his office, and hurriedly attempted to wipe the sparkly orange lip gloss off of his face. That would be fun to explain. Right.

***

Back in the Fanfic room . . .

"I won the bet!" Twist was screaming at Guinea. "No one in the US other than Laura found out! The whole of AM knew by the time George was done!"

"Yes, but I kissed Pteppic longer than you and Vetinari could go!" Guinea yelled, facing the wall.

Pteppic lay back in a beanbag chair and chewed his bean burrito, oblivious to the purple lip gloss covering his face. This was better than entertainment at the Palace.

****

THE END


	8. Author's Note

****

Author's Ramblings

*lip quivers* It's done! My baby's completed! Oh, joy! And this one is especially special because it is actually the first series I have ever finished. Seriously. Don't you feel fortunate now?

Now, about the last chapter. *sigh* It might not quite be up to my standards. To tell the truth, I got tired of the series after I came home from England, but since there was only one more chapter, I figured: 'To hell with it. This one's getting finished.' And it was. There you go. :)

And so that's the whole story. All seven chapters. I also wrote a goodies chapter because I love you all so much.

And now the thank yous. This is to everyone who ever reviewed my story, especially people who reviewed more than once. I don't know what I'd do without you all. A very special thanks to VimesLady, who e-mailed me several times throughout with comments and criticism. Also, to everyone who sent me info on Tony Blair of Queen Elizabeth II. There were two or three of you and I would have your names in here if AOL hadn't deleted your e-mails when I went on vacation. You were very helpful.

I also thank CNN, NBC, CNBC, FOX, The Daily Show, Saturday Night Live, and South Park for all of their educational stuff. I would be clueless without you all. Kiss me, Jon Stewart.

I would not like to thank my history teacher from the past year because he was a bigot and prejudiced against many minorities. The only purpose he served was to confuse me. But I guess I must thank him a smidge for the Campaign Finance Reform Act of 2002 point of view.

This story is dedicated to the US of A and Geroge Dubya and Terry Pratchett, without whom this wouldn't have been possible. You guys are all very funny, and while not supportive (not a single e-mail! I even wrote you, George) you still made it possible for everyone who read the story to at least grin.

So that's it. I am now open for suggestions, collaborations, whatever, as I have nothing to do (other than my HP series, which no-one cares about, so I don't bother updating often) and need to write.

There are no series currently in the works as far as Discworld goes, so everything from now until then'll be fun little blurbs, probably.

Thanks again for everything, you are great people, all of you!

~~Twist, your loving author. :)


	9. Goodies

Goodies . . . Hehehe.

By: Twist and her many insane amigas

(1)A couple of songs my friends and I wrote in all of hyperness. This first one was sung for the first time ever by my friend, whose penname is Kedavra. It must be sung like you are, and this I have trouble saying without turning red, constipated. The words or portions thereof in brackets must be dragged out. For example: [Texas] would be Teeeeeeeeeeeeeexas. I just didn't feel like typing multiple letters. Also, at the end of every line, you must gasp for air. It makes it sound funnier. Have fun!

I'm movin' to Texas next [month].

And I'm eatin' [ribs] for [lunch].

I ain't eatin' no hot dogs or [fries].

'Cause they'll clod my arteries and I'll [die].

Yers, I'm [movin'] to [Texas] next [month].

(2)The second song in our little archive. It's also the last. *sigh* We made this up after our school's awards assembly and stormed into the Fudrucker's singing it. We also put our names in as things like 'Shanana', but that's irrelevant. So, this song is to be sung to the tune of 'Jesus Loves Me.' Here we go.

George Bush loves me,

This I know.

For the Congress tells me so.

Americans to him belong,

For we are weak,

But he is st-r[ong]!

Yes, George Bush loves me!

Yes, George Bush loves me!

Yes, George Bush loves me!

The Congress tells me so!

~*

I love you all very much, so don't do drugs and stay in school! I'll be back! *evil laugh*


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